


Lobo y Lechuza

by Mozzarella



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, First Dates, Google Translate Spanish, M/M, Meet-Cute, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Service Dogs, Tattoos, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: In which Jack Morrison (aka the idiot who got his ex-fiance's name tattooed on his body) falls in love too easily, proven once more by a meet-cute involving a service dog and a tattoo artist with a past grimmer than his own.(for the Reaper76 Reverse Big Bang)





	Lobo y Lechuza

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: I am not a Spanish speaker. And yet I decided to.... put a lot of Spanish in this fic. Plus some Egyptian Arabic. 
> 
> If you're a Mexican Spanish speaker: I apologise. Please forgive me. Correct me, I beg you. 
> 
> But also: ENJOY!
> 
> Created for the Reaper76 Reverse Big Bang. THE AMAZING ART WAS CREATED BY ELENNUMEN! PLEASE GIVE HER ALL THE LOVE!!!! https://twitter.com/elennumen/status/1150880300597161986

John Morrison was someone most considered an admirable man. Of course, most people didn’t really know John Morrison. They didn’t know he was an anxious idiot with impulse control issues. They didn’t know he clung to the people he cared about who gave him any scrap of real affection.

And they certainly didn’t know how fast he fell in love—which, in his experience, led to nothing but inevitable disaster. It happened when he was in high school, when his whirlwind romance of two months at fifteen ended with a cheerleader punching him in the face before they both found out Sam from track was going behind both their backs with each other.

He got a lifelong friend in Brianna out of it though, so that wasn’t a total loss. Fortunately, subsequent boyfriends weren’t nearly as terrible. Darren in college was a sweetheart, but wasn’t as into John as John was into him, and when Darren waffled on inviting John home for Christmas, it was the nail in the proverbial coffin, and they broke up the following Valentine’s. It wasn’t terrible, and Darren and he parted on amiable terms, but John never really spoke to him again.

After that, it was Morris in the service, when he was twenty and genuinely believed that made him a full grown adult instead of an absolute child that was just about ready to start drinking.

Morris and Morrison. It was a joke that most of their unit liked to repeat. How that ended, John had to regret. He’d met Vincent while he was still with Morris, and he’d fallen for the man’s wit pretty much on their first meeting.

He didn’t act on it—he wasn’t, by any stretch, a bad person, but he couldn’t control his feelings long enough to slough the attraction off, and Morris caught on fast enough to accuse him in the mess.

Nothing happened. That was what John had said. But he wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t relieved when Morris broke it off first, before John had to see himself fall out of love with the man he’d been with just long enough to imagine a future together after they came home from war. And John never believed he wouldn’t, even at the worst of the skirmishes.

He knew they were lucky. They were never sent anywhere truly dangerous, even if everywhere was by virtue of being an invading force in a war zone.

But all it took one particularly bad night—with Morris bleeding out while his head rested on John’s lap, the only thing keeping the important bits inside him John’s masterfully applied field medic bandaging—for John to learn that even the lucky ones didn’t come home without baggage.

When he recovered from that particular skirmish, Morris kept trying to apologize, as if it wasn’t John’s fault their relationship had fallen apart. But they’d parted on good terms when Morris was given honorable discharge, and John served another couple of years.

That was when he marked his years with Vincent, the great love of his life. He’d fallen in love enough before to know that what he had with him was different.

Vincent was driven. He believed in what was right. He was whip-smart, well-educated, and was happy to engage John in as much verbal sparring as pepper him with affectionate endearments to go with his kisses. With Vincent as a journalist covering the military and armed conflict as a whole, they often found themselves in the same parts of the world, and that Vincent sometimes requested assignments near where John was stationed did a lot to make their already warm relationship warmer.

They made plans. In the times they got to spend together on leave, John ran the idea of living together by him, and Vincent seemed pleased, throwing out his own suggestions for places to live—New York, London, Paris, Berlin, places that John had never been, but where someone as worldly as Vincent dreamed of settling down, inasmuch as the wandering spirit in him _could_ settle down.

On one particularly grueling assignment, where John didn’t get to see Vincent for almost a year, with John assigned to somewhere Vincent couldn’t follow, John thought up the list of things he’d do once he saw Vincent again.

And one of the items on the list was to get a tattoo.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief (popular, meaning his family’s hysterics over the “rough” part of town in a city not known for its small town values), the neighborhood John had moved into to get away from home was not that bad. This was of course, mostly down to John’s ability to ingratiate himself to the abuelas and the bodega owners that any of the more dangerous members of the community steered clear of, and his own experience in war and relative youth that made it easy for him to deal with the occasional would-be mugger like he was swatting flies.

The tattoo was a conversation starter. Watching people ask about the name on his arm and then awkwardly apologize when he revealed that he was no longer with the man whose name he had permanently etched into his skin, well. At least it was good for something, if nothing else than a way to laugh at himself, and humanize the newcomer and stranger to a tight-knit community that didn’t trust easily.

It was a good thing he had Captain, or else he’d have gained notoriety for the ink alone.

Captain was a better conversation starter anyway, the big, sweet lug always eager to make friends and softening even the most untrusting strangers. When they saw her tail wagging and her big smile, too well-behaved to start jumping on people without John’s permission but eager to make friends, it was easy to talk to people who had the time to stop and say hello.

It was Captain that got him into his current predicament, and John got an inkling of just how special the meeting was when it was the one time the enormous, sweet, well-behaved German Shepherd didn’t listen to him when she jumped a complete stranger while John took her on a walk one Monday afternoon.

“Cap—Captain! Stop!” John yelled, his dog unusually eager to knock a man down, but not in a way that suggested she was worried about any danger. She was always an excellent companion, if a little too eager and too hyper-active for your typical service dog, but she’d never in the two years John had had her acted like this.

John worried just a little less when the man—broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, and covered in tattoos up his arms where John could see them—laughed at his girl’s antics, holding her by the front legs and letting her lick his face without too much fuss.

.[](https://twitter.com/elennumen/status/1150880300597161986)

[by elennumen](https://twitter.com/elennumen/status/1150880300597161986)

“Oh, what a beautiful girl! What a reina, what a big girl! Where’s your owner, niña? Where’s your—” The man looked up just as John jogged over, and while John could run the entire length of the city without losing his breath, meeting the man’s eyes knocked all the breath right out of him, more so when the man quirked the tiniest smile under his beard and mustache, and he kept on giving Captain his attention, loudly proclaiming “Is this your papi, pequeña? Is this your dad? Are you giving him trouble?”

“As long as she isn’t giving you any,” John said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Her name’s Captain, by the way. I’m… pretty sure she likes you. She’s never done this before!”

“Capitana, huh?” the man went on, his tone still pitched high and cooing, though he gave John a wink that could shatter the ground right under John’s feet if he wasn’t careful. “She must know a fellow soldier when she jumps on one, eh, hija? You used to keeping a unit on their toes?”

John let the surprise show on his face, but he kept his tone casual when he said “Well, between the two of us, she must just gravitate towards old vets. Unless you’re still in active service?”

“Come on now, hermano, we’re not that old,” said the other man easily, “unless you’re secretly sixty and just somehow found a way to stop aging. But no. Been out for a bit.” He eased Captain down onto her four legs, though the big baby’s tail kept thumping against her bum in excitement as she looked expectantly up between the two men.

Standing straight, the mysterious (and gorgeous) stranger stood at about John’s height, which was in itself a feat, since John tended towards taller than most of the people he met on a daily basis. He wore a dark beanie on his head and a hoodie with sleeves rolled halfway up, and Jack could see the scars on the man’s face glinting just a little lighter in the sun as he stepped forward.

He held a hand out to shake, and John couldn’t help but let his gaze be pulled up the man’s arms, halfway covered by a hoodie, but still revealing enough of the intricate lines and patterns going up his well-formed muscles.

“Reyes. Friends call me Gabe. Served two tours, then got relocated to a home base in LA, spent some time training recruits. These days the only marching orders I’m giving are to my idiot kids, not that they’ve got the fear of God I put into my squads.”

John shook his warm hand, their grips equally firm. He wondered if the flush was visible on his face or not, and let Captain’s excited loping distract him from the paranoia.

“Morrison. John. Been out for two years, but I just arrived in the city a couple of months ago. Wanted a change from the cornfields,” John said, chuckling. Captain seemed to sense what lay under his joke, and came up to his side to lick at his hand and ground him.

“Think I might’ve heard about you from Mama Constancia, the prettyboy guero who treats her like the queen,” Reyes said, his tone and body language open and friendly. “But I’m pretty sure she’s been calling you Jack, not John. Honestly, you kinda look more like a Jack. John sounds like your dad who’s some kind of hotshot lawyer.”

“Accountant,” John corrected, surprised to find the tension seeping right out of his shoulders. “She really thinks I’m a Jack?”

“It suits you,” said Reyes, giving him a once over. This time, he could definitely feel the blush, knew it must’ve been peeking up from his ears and under his blond hair. Something gave Reyes’ look pause, however, and it didn’t take John long to figure out what it was, the clearly written name etched in black on his pink skin. “As long as…. Vincent doesn’t mind the entire town deciding to change your name without you knowing,” Reyes added playfully, though his body language became much less overt in its flirtation, pulling back to a safer, friendlier distance.

It made John feel colder than it should.

“Jack sounds amazing, actually,” he said decisively, absently running his hand over the name. “I like it. And you’re right, John sounds like my father. Is my father. And John Junior was never gonna be an option,” he laughed, and Reyes snorted in good humor. “And… uh, Vincent’s not a factor anymore.”

Reyes’ eyes widened, but to his credit, his only reaction was to cross his arms and lean a little closer, though whether it was in renewed interest or commiseration, Jack wasn’t entirely certain.

“It’s like that, huh? Was he serving too, or—”

“Oh, no,” Jack said, shrugging exaggeratedly. “We just… decided to go our separate ways. Too many differences. They all piled up eventually. The tattoo, well, it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but at least it’s a good conversation starter, especially being new in the city.”

Reyes, arms crossed over his broad chest, pointed behind him with one elbow. “Well, you know, if you ever wanted to get anything to cover that up, we kinda specialize in hiding dumb decisions in art. Laser tends to be more than most people can handle money-wise, and it’s always better to get something new and beautiful out of it. If you’re interested?”

Before Jack could answer, Captain barked once as if in affirmative, sending him into fits of giggles as he gave her scritches behind the ears. “Well, you heard the lady,” he said. “I think… I think I’d like that, Reyes.”

“You can call me Gabe if you want to,” Reyes said immediately, looking at Jack from under hooded lashes, the somewhat more intense look sending sparks up Jack’s spine, before he turned away, gesturing to the façade of his yet-to-open shop. “We can set up an appointment. Decide on some designs. Free consultation, and we can see who’s best suited for the job based on the style you want. You can bring the little princesa with you if you need to, we’ve got some stuff set up inside for service animals, and the team’s gaga for pups like yours, except for a couple of grinches.”

“That sounds… amazing, actually,” Jack said, not knowing what else to say but “Thank you, Gabe.”

“My pleasure, Jack,” Gabe said, giving him half a smile over his shoulder, one that stretched the scars on his face in a way that was more than a little pleasing, before the two parted, with Captain pulling a couple more pats from her newfound friend.

One of John “Jack” Morrison’s biggest problems—apart from how his life had fallen apart just enough to send him running to another city when his boyfriend and fiancé of some years broke up with him—was how fast he fell in love.

And, given that Gabe was as much giving him the taste of a new beginning as he was friendship, and a new name to go with all of it, Jack found himself dreading what the inevitable fallout from the way his heart skipped a beat thinking of the gentle smile on a scarred face would be.

* * *

It had been romantic, at the time. Vincent had said it so fervently that these days, Jack wondered if he’d been lying to protect his feelings or if he’d been on the same wavelength, thinking they’d be together forever. Even halfway through, thinking he was going to regret this, Jack—John at the time—had been optimistic, allowing himself to hope for this part of his life to go smoothly.

When Vincent had told him in no uncertain terms that he loved it, that it felt a lot more permanent than, say, a wedding ring, Jack had taken all of these to be good signs.

And if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t… really regret it. Any of it. Except, maybe, the way it ended.

But even now—sitting in a tattoo shop being prodded and poked and maybe even insulted in rapid-fire Spanglish on the best way to fix his “idiot decision, don’t you know that tattooing a girlfriend or boyfriend’s name on your body is inviting bad luck, perro? Damn.”—Jack couldn’t regret getting the tattoo. The same way it’d been a good way to make friends in his new home, it was a good excuse to hang about in Gabriel Reyes’ tattoo shop while the man watched him from a comfortable seat in the corner, responding to Jack’s one raised eyebrow with an amused quirk of his own.

“I don’t think my Watercolors work for this cover-up, Gabe-papa. Gotta be a Blackwork, or Black and Grey. Trash Polka if he’s into that. Dunno about American Traditional, what do you think, Jesse?”

“Gonna need to work around a couple designs if we don’t want the black to peek out the colors. Blackwork’s probably the best, unless the sarge here’s willin’ to pay outta pocket for real expensive custom work.”

Jesse tipped his impossible hat at Jack with a saucy wink. Jack shrugged it off with a friendly shake of his head.

Jesse seemed like the type to flirt as much as talk, and was the kind of man a younger John Morrison might have gone for; the man was broad, hairy, and handsome in a rough-and-tumble kinda way. As it was, Jesse McCree was too young for Jack to have any real interest in, and even if he wasn’t, Jack was already—against his better judgment—smitten with Jesse’s sort-of-kind-of guardian maybe-father, maybe-brother figure to give the late twenty-something year old hairy cowboy another glance.

Sombra tapped her impressively long, polished nails on the counter, their colors as bright as the tattoos she was known for putting on others, while she looked between Jack and Gabe with a terrifyingly perceptive expression, her lips quirked knowingly. Gabe seemed to catch her look and shook his head once, to which Sombra only winked cheekily.

“But who knows? Maybe you want some Biomech? Got a friend to do mine—Carmelita’s the best in the business with these designs. And she’s got a tattoo gun arm for when she works. You gotta appreciate the dedication to craft,” Sombra continued, tapping the side of her head where some impressive-looking tattoo work faded into the hair atop her half-shaved head. “She even got an electrical circuit on one guy with some conducting ink. You could light a bulb on the burro’s head. Dunno how he’s not dead yet, but es peligroso meterse con esa mierda, I don’t fuck with it.”

“Well that’s a lie,” Jesse said, nudging his sort-of-sister in the arm. “Or are ya gonna tell me you just naturally grow light-up LEDs off your head?”

“I literally just asked the one question, ingrates. You two don’t need to talk the poor guy’s ear off,” Gabe said loudly. The two seemed unfazed, but let Gabe take over when he approached, pulling a chair over with one extended leg and plopping down closer to Jack than he expected.

Maybe one day, his heart would stop jumping every time a guy he liked (liked) got near. Gabe picked his arm up and examined the ink on it, his touch warm and strong and calloused from work and weapons both. Jack tried not to let the proximity affect him.

“Blackwork good? Or black and grey?” Gabe asked, nodding his thanks when Jesse handed him a sample book and showed him the styles in question.

“I do like a little depth in my art,” Jack said, half-joking as he ran his fingers over the images on the page. “But I can’t say I’m not tempted to go all out,” he went on, pointing to the more complex black inked patterns covering a model’s entire arm.

“Start small. Any imagery you like? Iconography? Even TV shows, books, movies.”

Jack sat up a little straighter, throwing Gabe a skeptical look that Gabe responded to with a smirk.

“So a significant other is a bad idea, but TV is forever?” he said. Gabe laughed, pulling Jack closer by the arm where he’d pulled away.

“Stories end, and sometimes they even end well. No shame in getting stuff done afterward, to commemorate how it made you feel, or the impact it had on your life. People who get names done usually aren’t done with the relationships, and seem so surprised when they do end. Don’t get me wrong,” Gabe sighed, “there’s a good number that get lucky. When they say forever, the world doesn’t conspire against it and they get to have another in a long list of little reminders that they made the decision to stay. But the fallout from breakups makes entire careers for certain artists. That, and repentant former Nazis who need chingado Swastikas painted over with flowers,” Gabe explained.

“Guess that makes sense,” Jack said. He sat back, focusing on the feel of Gabe’s fingers tracing Vincent’s name. “What about animals?”

Gabe nodded encouragingly. “Animals are good. Could work off different styles, could be symbolic or personal. What were you thinking?”

“A wolf, maybe?” Jack said thoughtfully.

“Why a wolf?”

Jack shrugged. Gabe gave him a soft tug on his arm, and he acquiesced. “I like wolves. Always have. It’s dumb, but—”

“Ay guey, it’s not dumb. Not every tattoo has to win a Hugo Award for symbolism,” Gabe assured. “Sometimes all you need is a cool wolf to have something new to talk about that isn’t your shitty ex.”

“He wasn’t the shitty one,” Jack said immediately. Gabe just gave him the look of skepticism that Jack was fast becoming well-acquainted with. “Really, Vincent was good. He was good to me. We just had our differences, and we couldn’t work past them.”

“Yeah, I’ve had those,” Gabe said, sighing. “Never moved cross-county for a mutual break-up, though.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably. “He wasn’t the reason. The only reason,” he amended when Gabe opened his mouth to comment again. “And it wasn’t his fault he broke up. More mine than his. I just… I couldn’t really—”

He was startled by Gabe’s other hand moving to clasp his shoulder, while the one on his arm squeezed gently, once. “I’m not gonna dig into your history here, Jack,” Gabe said. “We’ve all got one, and it’s never as good as we want it to look to other people. I’m just trying to tell you that I’m a good enough judge of character and I’ve got enough personal baggage to know when someone’s trying too hard to defend someone else’s shitty behavior while playing up their own. I’m not saying Vincent wasn’t a great guy, but I don’t believe this narrative you’re selling me about how the breakup was more your fault than his. You’re too… Well. You don’t seem like that kind of a guy.”

Jack sighed. “You’ve known me for two weeks, Gabe. Maybe I _am_ that kind of guy.”

“If you are, I’ll give you the shittiest wolf drawing to make up for earlier misjudgment,” Gabe joked. “But you’re not.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Jack sighed, but he let the subject drop in favor of a better one, less populated with his personal hang-ups about relationships. Apart from the matter being centered on hiding his ex’s tattoo, that is.

The design Gabe sketched up for the wolf was nothing short of genius, and Jack was quick to say so, even as Gabe frowned at it with a critical artist’s eye and deemed it still a working draft, saying he’d give Jack a few options when they next met up.

“I hope we don’t need to wait until then to see each other,” Jack tried, affecting what Vincent had once called his “golly gee farmboy” smile. Reyes raised both brows, doubling the effect of his skepticism, but even seeming to know exactly what Jack was doing, he clearly wasn’t entirely immune.

“So is calling yourself an asshole part of your foolproof strategy to flirt, or am I just lucky?” Gabe said, and Jack tried not to look caught out, even as he felt a bit of heat climbing his ears in a blush.

“I don’t think I was trying to be subtle, no,” he said softly. The look Gabe gave him in answer made him blush in full, and it would have been at least ten times more romantic if Jack wasn’t aware of the two younger adults acting like nosy twelve-year-olds throwing them looks from the other side of the room, not quite distracted by Captain, who had taken a nap throughout and was just now starting to stir.

“How do you feel about Italian fusion?” Gabe asked.

“I think the closest I’ve ever gotten to real Italian is a Pizza Hut,” Jack said immediately, making Gabe groan.

“You’re killing me here, Morrison,” Gabe said, wiping a hand over his face even as he shook his head.

“I’m not trying to,” Jack said, his tone falling right off the side of “joking” and instead landing face-first into “gentle”.

“What’s Saturday night look like for you?” Gabe asked. Jack grinned.

* * *

There weren’t too many jobs lined up when Jack came to town, and while his previous major made him good at sounding impressive and charming some people with his way with words, he didn’t quite have a single job in mind that could fit his budget or his therapy sessions, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for the commitment of the jobs his parents kept nudging him toward to justify said degree.

Still, despite initial misgivings, he was convinced he’d lucked out when he got work at the Gibraltar Pub, confusingly bearing the name of the island but very little about it bearing any semblance to the place or following any single theme (though Jack had no idea what a Gibraltar-themed pub would look like, anyway). It was eclectic but clean, strictly run by a Japanese man whose arm was covered in tattoos and looked like he was a fighter—not a soldier, like Jack was, but he’d seen violence nonetheless, and Jack refrained from asking about it. The man was a decent few years younger than him, but his glare was sharp as the knife he’d slam on the bartop when someone was getting particularly rowdy on busy nights, and could cut a man just as easy.

Jack probably wouldn’t have made friends with Hanzo Shimada if it wasn’t for his brother. Genji was a good sort, but he was the kind of young man Jack took pains in avoiding, and the kind that would set him on edge if more than three of them walked into the bar already half drunk.

As it was, Hanzo and Genji had the quintessential brotherly relationship—antagonistic but ultimately affectionate—with an undercurrent of past violence both of them were recovering from, with Genji bearing scars and prosthetics cleverly hidden under the latest fashions (or so he claimed them to be) out of the city and Hanzo himself wearing leg braces that covered up any injuries, but signaled their existence regardless.

And while Jack and Hanzo got along more readily than he and Genji did, it was Genji and the way he and Hanzo sniped at each other that told Jack how close they were, and how Hanzo was a man worth knowing when you got him talking.

He was also a hilarious laughing drunk, which Jack discovered after they both closed early one night, then proceeded to get roaring drunk in the back room. That particular talk turned introspective very quickly, and at the end of it, Hanzo had Jack’s friendship and was one of the few people who knew the details of his fallout with Vincent, and his subsequent move to where he was today.

Hanzo promised blood would be spilled before he breathed a word of it to anyone, and Jack appreciated the threatening sort of kindness and camaraderie the man offered.

When it came right down to it, however, the one Jack could truly call a friend was one of the reasons he moved to the city in the first place, though he’d spent a good few weeks avoiding her when he first came, until she quite forcibly dragged him out of his sorry state and his sorry, half-unpacked apartment to the park, so that her daughter could play with his dog.

Her nineteen year old daughter built like a brick shithouse, but that didn’t make it any less cute when Fareeha rolled around in the dirt with a pup that could probably take a trained professional down if she were so inclined.

This time, he didn’t need to be dragged, but Ana was still the same worried friend that she was when Jack first came, and he couldn’t lie and say there was no reason for her to be.

“So how goes it with your new man, saahib? And your new name, as it were. Jack is so much better than John. Too proper for the hot mess that you really are,” Ana said, laughing when Jack threw a water bottle at her, which she caught easily even with the one eye. “Thank you, habibi,” she said, sickly sweet.

“I haven’t even gotten through the first date and you’re already acting like I’ve got a ‘new man’? With my track record you should probably be prepping for the next time I’ve gotta move cities,” Jack quipped, and Ana frowned, reaching out to ruffle his hair a bit more roughly than necessary.

“Maalak, Jack? Are you sleeping well? Are the medications working?” Ana asked, and Jack pulled away from her friendly touch, reassuring her with a firm squeeze of her gun-calloused hand.

“It’s not worse than it was, Ana,” said Jack reassuringly. “I’m just…” he sighed, looking to where Fareeha had Captain engaged in a game of fetch that would span the entire open field of the park and back. He put his head between his knees, feeling a pounding behind his eyes.

“What am I doing? I left over a relationship and I’m really trying to jump into another one as my first act as a functioning human being after getting a job? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Ana made a disapproving sound through her teeth, one that seemed to be a specialty of particularly put-together mothers.

“Da kalaam ayy kalaam, Jack Morrison. You didn’t move your entire life over a breakup, and you know it as well as I do. And you should never question your own happiness. Gabriel is an adult, as willing and as responsible as you for trying something new. You can’t pretend he’s part of some… metaphysical conspiracy against your life.”

Jack shot her an accusing look, which she shrugged off easily as anything.

“So I know the man. I know many people. I was just curious to hear your perspective, but Allah knows I didn’t think you’d be such a sorry, self-flagellating ass about it,” Ana said.

“I’m trying very hard to be mad at you for leading me on,” Jack said, sighing. “So what intelligence have you forwarded to Gabriel Reyes about me, oh eagle-eyed sniper?”

“His boy Jesse and my Fareeha are dear friends, and I taught Jesse how to shoot when he was still a punk getting in with the wrong crowd,” said Ana in explanation.

“Teaching a kid halfway into the gang life how to shoot?” Jack asked, though he wasn’t nearly as skeptical as he wanted to sound, given how he’d seen firsthand the work Ana had done with her own recruits back when they’d had joint training exercises and she was putting people in place with a quiet knowledge of her own authority that nobody, not even the most volatile alpha males of their ranks, could argue against.

The eyepatch helped. Jack was sure she wore it just for dramatic effect, and it worked where it mattered.

“It worked, didn’t it? Boy can shoot a bird mid-flight from a hundred feet with a handgun, but he uses that deadeye to make sure his tattoos come out in meticulous detail,” Ana said proudly. She sobered a little, putting an arm around Jack’s shoulders, which relaxed at the openly affectionate touch.

“This city’s good for people who want a fresh start,” said Ana. “At least, the parts of it I’ve seen. I’ve tried to pay it back for the people I’ve met here, those I’ve befriended and loved. Now, if you don’t tell me more about you and Gabriel, I won’t tell you about Reinhardt, and we’ll both be disappointed and I’ll have to gossip to my daughter and her girl-friends. It’ll be pathetic all around.”

“It was very 101 Dalmatians, for one thing,” Jack said, the fog over his head easing as he distracted himself with Ana’s ridiculous prodding.

Ana Amari and her sharp single eye seemed to hone in on someone else’s problems and find the most roundabout way to fix them, and Jack had to be grateful he had her as a friend, something which, as most things in his life these days, his family wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

And she was almost always right about everything. Maybe her assurance that things wouldn’t crash and burn like he feared was the bit of good luck he needed.

* * *

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the only human disaster in the middle of all this, and the thought comforted him as Gabe apologized a few times when they met up in front of the restaurant he’d suggested, and Jack had shown up in his nicest pair of jeans and a plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves that definitely did not fit into the ridiculously fancy five star dining experience that Gabe apparently had chosen for a _first date._

So… maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling how he felt, as strongly as he felt. That was… a big weight off his chest.

Though he couldn’t regret seeing Gabe in a fitted blazer over a simple shirt, and sleek pants that accentuated the lines of his body. The man ran a tattoo parlor and wore hoodies and beanies on the daily, but of _course_ he was a fashionista who’d take the excuse to dress like he was on a runway.

“Didn’t know if the dress code would scare you off,” was one of the few explanations Gabe had given, looking adorably sheepish, “but I guess that was pretty fucking stupid.”

And Jack couldn’t help it. He laughed. Bust out laughing outside a fancy Italian restaurant, while dog barked in response, apparently wanting to be in on the joke but just happy to be there with people she liked. Gabe chuckled, his smile warm and sweet, and he then said “Let’s get outta here, huh?”

“Don’t you have a reservation?” Jack asked after he was able to stop giggling.

“I know the owner,” Gabe said, smiling. “It’s too much for a first date, anyway, but I got kinda… carried away? Kinda embarrassing, to be caught out like this.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jack said genuinely, making Gabe blush obviously in the lights coming off the restaurant. “And you don’t gotta tell the guy who literally tattooed an ex’s name onto his body what getting carried away looks like, I promise.”

At that, Gabe laughed just as raucously, and at the end of it he took Jack’s hand without shame and they went off to find somewhere else to spend their time together. Gabe assured Jack that while Amelie would give him shit for cancelling last minute, a freed up table would be no skin off her nose.

The night was… well, it was perfect.

They found a food truck selling pierogis, took Gabe’s car out to a parking space overlooking part of the city in a nearby lakeside park, and made out like teenagers on the hood and possibly ruined Gabe’s expensive-looking blazer.

Afterward, Gabe told him about how he ended up fostering two trouble-makers who the state had deemed hopeless, and Jack skirted around the topic of the man he’d loved for a handful of years and instead talked to Gabe about the time he befriended a remarkably young medical student that ended up becoming the foremost expert of the medical applications of nanotechnology, and yet insisted Jack come to see her for physicals like she was an open clinic.

Unfortunately, that story happened to be one that began with Vincent interviewing her for one of his features, when they’d both been in to speak to one of her colleagues about streamlining field medicine, and Jack’s active omission of Vincent’s presence made it clear he was trying to avoid mentioning him entirely, something Gabe clearly picked up on.

“I’ve heard about Doctor Ziegler’s work, and I’m pretty sure I know someone she hates,” Gabe commented dryly, and Jack looked up from where his head rested on Gabe’s shoulder as they lay on the hood of his car.

“You know O’Deorain, then?” Jack said, chuckling.

“Not exactly a paragon of virtue,” Gabe said, “but I can’t pretend she hasn’t helped me out of a few scrapes. Especially early on, when I wasn’t… well. I wasn’t exactly the kind of person who _could_ adopt if I wanted to. For all of her flaws, she judges nobody for anything, so she’s got a lot of… friends. I owe her a bit, even if I wouldn’t let her near people I actually like. Demasiado peligrosa, that woman.”

“I’ve heard just how dangerous she can be,” Jack murmured. “But I understand what you mean. Sometimes there are days where you just… can’t be around good people without remembering what about you is broken.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said faintly, lips against Jack’s downy hair. It sounded like he understood, in a way nobody could. At least, nobody Jack, or John, had ever loved.

“You know you’re growing some white out in this gold?” Gabe murmured against his ear, and Jack huffed, giving him an elbow in retaliation.

“Them’s fighting words, _cabron,_ ” Jack said exaggeratedly, and they wrestled a bit to get each other down before the night ended with longer kisses and the clouds moving over midnight stars.

* * *

Jack knew he was in love, but it was strange how it didn’t feel like being in love—at least, not the kind of “in love” he’d experienced with others. With Vincent, because he spent too much time talking around the man for anyone to be fooled he wasn’t thinking about Vincent.

Being with Gabriel Reyes was… comfortable. Not that it hadn’t been comfortable with Vincent, but Gabe didn’t make sweeping plans, and he seemed… content. Content with living. Content with the people he loved, who he surrounded himself with.

Content to step a few feet away and give Jack space when he asked, when he stopped in the middle of the road to catch his breath for reasons that were far from physical, and content—almost bland—when they were walking together down a street full of cafes and restaurants on a busy Sunday afternoon and Jack snapped at him when there were too many people standing too close.

He was so endlessly patient that Jack selfishly felt that he might be able to contribute if Gabe lost it in front of him at least once—but he’d been dealing with it longer than Jack had, and clearly whatever he’d learned, or whatever he was taking, was working wonders to keep the man cool and collected while faced with an angry soldier that was supposed to be his loving boyfriend.

And though he might come off as intimidating, Gabe was remarkably easygoing and accepting—which was something Jack could admit he needed. 

It wasn’t that Gabe didn’t have ambition, either. He had worked hard to get his shop, and worked hard to get it the good reputation it had, with kids he helped shape into artists, and had done a lot to make it so that he had the work he loved while he also began to pursue his other passion—

“I’d be more surprised if I didn’t see how you dressed up on the first date,” Jack said, when he entered Gabe’s basement for the first time and found a veritable studio lined with samples of both costumes and semi-formal customized outfits in deep and beautiful shades. “But I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect it to be full on home freelance work.”

“People always look at me funny when I tell them needles make me happy,” Gabe joked merrily as he took a baby blue blazer off the rack and insisted Jack try it on. “But whether it’s working with cloth or skin, the detail always makes me feel focused. At peace. There’s a guy, Zenyatta. He used to be one of those monks—well I guess he still is, but he lives around here now. He told me that finding peace while creating something new is admirable, especially with what… Well. La mierda que he visto.

“Making a dress for a high schooler’s prom and the way her face lights up when she realizes she didn’t need to pay thousands of dollars to look and feel good about herself while her classmates rent limos? Seeing two college sweethearts get married in suits that fit their personalities but whose looks play off each other’s? And just… seeing cosplayers having a good time sharing the kind of feel-good nerd shit that brings people together? Knowing I got to do that with my own two hands? Fuck if that’s not a good feeling.”

Jack tapped on Gabe’s shoulder and he looked up to see the blue blazer just tight enough around Jack’s shoulders to give them definition, as Jack smirked down at him with eyes that were dark with intent.

“That’s not the only thing your own two hands can do,” Jack said, before giving Gabe a gentler smile. “But I’m glad it makes you happy. This is amazing, Gabe. I wish…”

Gabe shut him up with a firm, sweet kiss before he could finish. Just as well. He was probably getting tired of Jack’s whole “boohoo me” shtick.

There was something about Gabe that Jack understood, with the two of them being former soldiers, with the two of them just clicking as much as friends as lovers… and something else underneath that Jack only ever saw glimpses of. Casual mentions from Jesse about their history in Spanish that Jack only half understood. Sombra’s more cryptic allusions to people Gabe avoided speaking of.

Gabe was a good man. That didn’t need saying. But the way people around him spoke of a bad past he’d left behind, or a bad childhood or troubled teenage years that either Sombra or Jesse had had to get through with Gabe’s help—it felt like whatever bad Gabe had left behind had yet to stop nipping at his heels.

And somehow, with that knowledge… Jack was content.

John Morrison wouldn’t have been, just a few short years ago. But Jack Morrison—lying back on another man’s bed with the man’s mouth tracing shapes against his stomach and running gentle but rough fingers over his scars, thought about all the things that could go wrong with a man who had a past shadier than most—just smiled and pulled the man he loved up, kissing him breathless.

* * *

The wolf was done in one four-hour session, three weeks into them dating, and it was beautiful, its eyes shaped like stars and its form like a breaking shadow.

Jack had kissed Gabe furiously in the shop, and Gabe had returned his kiss with equal fervor, flipping off his kids (and Genji, because of _course_ he and McCree were friends) over Jack’s shoulder.

The funny thing was, looking at the wolf and knowing what was drawn over just made Jack think of Vincent more. The thoughts weren’t more pleasant than they used to be, but Jack let himself feel the overwhelming, body-warm love he had for Gabriel and it was… it was fine.

It had to be fine.

His relationship with Gabriel was a genuine source of joy in his life, and the only real “problem” he had was the urge to do something incredibly stupid.

Maybe slightly less stupid than before, but still. He deserved the look he got from Hanzo, in whom he confided his plans, simply because they were friends without the kind of history he had with Ana, and had somehow come to confide in each other when Hanzo had revealed to Jack his own terrible past, involving a crime family, an attempted assassination, and an almost impossible reconciliation between brothers.

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, but that sounds like a shit plan,” said Hanzo bluntly.

“It doesn’t have to be something as obvious as a name,” Jack said. “It could be something else. An animal, maybe. Something that represents him.”

Hanzo sighed, pouring himself another cup of sake.

“You are a very sad man,” said Hanzo, and he caught the punch Jack tried to impress upon his arm with ease. “But I do remember Jesse telling me that Reyes has an affinity with owls. Specifically barn owls. The ones that look like they bring death.”

“Jesse told you?”

“Yes, well sometimes I’m saddled with both my brother and his best friend and sometimes fuckbuddy and I learn about things I never asked about, but somehow retain,” said Hanzo flippantly. “But you’d have to ask him yourself, if you’re planning to go through with this. You don’t exactly have a good record.”

“That’s why I’m telling you,” Jack said, and even in his drink-addled mind he could admit to himself that that made little sense.

“To deprive me of plausible deniability when your plan inevitably backfires?” Hanzo said. Jack felt an utterly pathetic look pass over his face, but he wasn’t sober enough to stop it. “Oya oya, don’t look at me like that. How are you, an adult man, suddenly a sad puppy? Kanashī koinu ni naranaide, I’ll ask the hairy cowman for you if you’re so worried. Or you could just ask him. Ask Reyes. He’s ass over teakettle for you, and asking about his favorite animal won’t change that.”

“Right. Ask Gabe or Jessie. Owls. Fuck, I’m too drunk for this.”

“Kuso, I need to call him to get you, you can’t go home on your own. Genji ni denwa suru hitsuyō ga arimasu, I can’t drive tonight,” Hanzo said, giggling out of nowhere at seemingly the first thought to come to mind.

“Noooo, I thought I could trust you,” Jack cried, hurt at the betrayal. He was still hurt when Gabe arrived to pick him up, with Genji and Jesse in tow. Hanzo looked betrayed himself, when both his brother and the cowboy he’d just been talking about.

“Must you embarrass me in front of the entire city, Genji,” he muttered as both younger men took up on either side of him, helping him to his feet.

“Oh don’t worry, Jesse’s seen worse from me at least a dozen times in the last month, aniki,” Genji assured as he picked up Hanzo’s special sake bottle and dish from the counter.

“Seen worse just last night, actually,” Jesse said. “Don’t worry your pretty head over it, partner. Genji’s a shit drunk.”

“At least I don’t break out into song when I’m wasted,” Genji shot back, but Jesse only grinned.

“I’ve got the voice of crooning angels where you’ve got the voice of screaming cats. There ain’t no comparison”

“If you two don’t stop talking I will stab you both,” Hanzo groaned. “I’ve got knives where you shouldn’t keep knives and I’m not afraid to use them.”

“Well that’s an image,” Jesse muttered as Genji burst out laughing.

Gabe watched this all bemusedly from the sidelines while he fetched Jack some water, brushing his hair out of his face with gentle care. “Any particular reason you decided to leave your little girl and go on a bender with our resident dragon man, or was it just one of those nights?”

Jack looked down, shamefaced, but Gabe had no judgment when he was forced to meet his gaze. He drank the water down gratefully and allowed Gabe to help him to his feet. “Come on, lindo. You won’t thank yourself in the morning if you fall asleep now.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said mournfully, to which Gabe responded with a peck on the cheek as he led him out of the pub.

“I called Ana to check on Captain. You alright with coming home with me?”

Jack only nodded, though he suspected it might have been lost in his head lolling, so he said “please” and Gabe brought him over to his car, packing him into the front seat and rolling the window down. He vaguely heard Jesse letting Gabe know he’d be spending the night with the Shimadas just to help Genji with his brother, and he both hoped that Hanzo would be alright and that he’d have as big a hangover as Jack suspected he’d get, just so they’d be on even footing.

The evening air was nice on his face, and but for a few stoplights, the lateness of the hour meant that the traffic was light, and they got to Gabe’s place not too long after.

“Come on, Jackie. Let’s get you up the stairs before you fall asleep on me. I—pinche puta madre!”

The end of the sentence startled Jack into wakefulness, his old soldier’s instincts kicking into overdrive when he saw the enormous figure standing in front of a sleek black car parked just off the side of Gabe’s house. The man—broad, dark, bald-headed, and dangerous-looking—was dressed expensively from what Jack could see, and Gabe was out the car and muttering for Jack to stay put before he could process anything else.

He couldn’t hear what was being discussed, though he could hear the man’s voice—deep and resonant, smooth as silk, and making warning bells go off in Jack’s head as he tried to fumble with the seatbelt and give Gabe some backup—do something, not be useless, _help him._

He was out the door and just about to make his way over when the talking stopped, and the man looked down at Gabe before looking up to see Jack with one hand on the roof of Gabe’s car. Gabe didn’t look back, but the tension in his shoulders told Jack all he needed to know about whoever this man was.

He heard the man’s last words clearly enough: “Consider it, Gabriel. You’d be welcome; you always were the best in your field.”

And Gabe’s response was quieter, yet somehow easier for Jack to interpret. “I told you before, Akande. I’m done with that life. I know you’ve got your pick of freelancers better than I ever was. Leave me be.”

“As you wish, Reaper,” Akande said, and Gabriel didn’t flinch, but Jack saw one of his fists clench tighter as this ‘Akande’ departed, his status symbol on wheels pulling out with the quiet rev of only the most expensive, fastest models.

Jack walked over, a little uneven but focused entirely on getting to Gabe, who caught him just as he got close and put a hand on his arm to steer him back to the house.

“Who was that?” Jack began, but Gabe shook his head.

“Not now,” he said, and though Jack wanted to argue, the haunted look on Gabe’s face stopped the words from coming. He instead pulled his arm out of Gabriel’s hand, only to replace it with a firm, reassuring grip, his fingers tangling with Gabe’s own. Gabe’s face remained impassive, but he squeezed back and they both made their way up to the bedroom, where Gabe bade Jack try and get some rest while he washed up.

Gabe didn’t come out of the bathroom for a long while yet.

* * *

Jack brought the idea up to Jesse, who looked both impressed and skeptical in a way that reminded Jack that Gabe had helped raise him through some of the harder parts of his life.

“Listen, partner, you really think it’s a good idea to jump into another tattoo when the last one went muy malísimamente?

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” said Jack, crossing his arms. “And more than that it’s something he likes, it… fits him. The way the wolf fits me. Having the two share space on my body just… feels right. And even if this all crashes and burns,” Jack went on, shrugging helplessly, “at least I’ll have something beautiful to remember it by, instead of something awkward and stupid.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t wanna ruin your cock of the walk cool-guy image,” Jesse said, his tone dry as the desert and heading into hostile. “I gotta tell ya, Jack, if you really think things are gonna go sideways…”

Jack sighed, raising a hand to Jesse’s protective aggression. “I love Gabe. I love him so much I can’t think about it, sometimes. But you said it yourself, didn’t you? The things I do, when love’s involved… tends to end in disaster.”

Jesse relaxed a fraction, shaking his head. “You’re kind of shit at self-esteem, do you know that?” he said. “There’s something… I need to tell you. But it can’t leave this room, entiendes?”

Jack thought back to the night of their dinner, when Gabe refused to speak to him and only came to bed after he’d fallen asleep (presumably), with Jack waking in the morning to a tired-eyed Gabriel clinging to him a little desperately.

“What is it?”

Jesse sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Olivia—Sombra—wasn’t around for this, but she probably knows more than I do by now. She knows what privacy means, sure, but she just don’t give a shit if it don’t suit her needs. But I’m just tellin’ ya what I remember. I was a kid. Thirteen. Stupid as shit mal bicho. Gabe was the guy pullin’ me outta the fire and back into the frying pan. He wasn’t…”

Jesse looked around, almost like the hunted child he must have been.

“He wasn’t good people then,” Jesse admitted. “But as a kid, you only see heroes, and Gabe was the guy who was ready to believe in me when everyone else just accepted I was gonna be another gang-banger, and maybe I’d get lucky and get outta the life later, or maybe I’d get shot doin’ somethin’ stupid, or maybe I’d become the biggest, baddest capo in the South, and get shot for doin’ somethin’ stupid by a sniper instead of some punk.

“Gabe got me set up something sweet, livin’ off his couch, payin’ for me to get home schooled, gettin’ me three square meals a day even when he forgot to eat. Had Ana keepin’ me outta trouble. She was with Sam back then, and Fareeha was tiny, and I got to be someone’s big brother and someone’s kid for once. He tried to keep it from me, but I knew he was tryn’a… _quit his job,_ ” said Jesse with air quotes. “Which he seemed pretty antsy talkin’ about in front of a kid. Even a kid that learned to shoot to kill earlier than he did. You get curious, though, when that’s the kind of life you’re in, and I got a little outta Ana when I asked her about it.

“She said… _Gabriel Reyes is a killer, and has been since he was in the military. He’s not in the military anymore. He’s always wanted to leave that life behind, but you… shaytan saghir, you gave him a deadline._ ”

After all this, Jesse looked up, narrowing his eyes at the expression on Jack’s face, which seemed… remarkably impassive.

At length, Jack spoke. “Reaper,” he said, and Jesse’s eyes widened, before his expression shuttered.

“Did Ana tell ya?”

“No,” Jack sighed. “The night me and Hanzo were drinking… There was someone waiting for Gabe back at his house. They called him Reaper before leaving. Gabe said he left that life behind.”

“You never really,” sighed Jesse, and Jack flinched. He knew that all too well. Maybe he hadn’t become a killer after leaving the army, but war was never something you could just… let go of.

He hadn’t.

“The owl,” Jesse went on. “Hanzo said I told him it was Gabe’s favorite animal. It’s not that simple, though I know he thinks it looks damn cool,” Jesse snorted. “Esa hombre estaba obsesionado con la muerte. Edgy bastard. But I got it outta him when we were drinking together, once. The barn owl, he thinks of it as his own personal psychopomp. The one that’ll be there at the end of everything. Maybe he’s got a different _favorite,_ but the owl is him. And if you’re serious about this… That’s what you need to be looking at.”

It probably said a lot about Jack Morrison that all he felt at this revelation was… relief, and a sense of purpose.

He loved Gabriel Reyes, and had for a while. Perhaps too early. But he wasn’t afraid of that fact anymore.

He loved Gabriel Reyes, and now he knew him just a little better—and was eager to know more.

* * *

He’d had plans. They both did, though Vincent was the one who spoke them into being when they were together.

They would move somewhere full of people. A city, where cultures clashed and came alive. Vincent would continue with his journalistic work, but he’d try not to go for too long on assignment, take on a role that kept him with John, the two of them staying close and enjoying the end of John’s effective retirement.

John would recover… a year, maybe more, maybe less. He’d find other work, while Vincent supported them. They had so much, they could afford an off year. These were the goals Vincent-and-John had set for themselves, planning for the bright future they had together.

But John… didn’t get better.

And that was the crux of it, really. He’d had this grand fantasy that PTSD could be fixed, could be cured like any sickness or injury, with time. And in some ways, it could heal—but not in the way they’d hoped, and one too many nightmares, or John being unable to come out for fear of anxiety attacks, or the one time a stray firework had gone off and John had been on high alert for the entire night and the day after, ruining the little party Vincent had put together with his colleagues to celebrate.

Vincent was patient. But once it became clear this was something they couldn’t plan an endpoint for, their dynamic changed.

Even now, Jack could look back and not blame Vincent for any of it. He wanted to try. He wanted to keep trying. He wanted things to work.

But John Morrison knew even then that it wouldn’t work. Not the way they wanted. And he couldn’t be the selfish one, when Vincent had everything going for him.

Vincent had always been too kind, too good, because he’d broken up with John before he could be the reason their relationship failed. “I’m not helping you heal,” Vincent had said, and they’d had what most would consider a mutual breakup.

When John had been packing up, Vincent presented him with one last gift.

“Her name’s Captain,” he’d said, and John knew that this was how it had to be, even if he felt all the love for the man that convinced him it was a good idea to tattoo his name onto his arm flow through his heart in that moment.

* * *

Gabriel Reyes was someone most considered an admirable man, and John “Jack” Morrison lived every day happy with him until he woke up one morning and realized they were fast approaching the anniversary of their first meeting. Appropriately, Jack remembered this as Captain licked him awake first, then lay down on Gabe’s stomach until he gave her an appropriate amount of scritches.

It had been a few week’s worth of convincing on Jack’s part to get Gabe to go with Sombra to an artist’s convention where their shop was one of the sponsors, leaving McCree to run things while he was away.

“He’s far past burning the place down without you to watch him, Gabe,” Jack had said, laughing, and with even more coaxing, he’d gotten Gabe to bring a set of business cards for his less ink, more textile-related craft to hand out. Gabe had no designs on his own line or anything so grand, but he enjoyed the making of it, and it made him happy to have that kind of work outside of his tattoos.

As soon as Gabe left, Jack and Jesse got to work with the design Jesse had helped Jack workshop and pin down, and with Zenyatta (who Gabe had hired on Genji’s recommendation, surprisingly; a Tibetan man with a remarkable eye for detailed patterns he apparently learned from mandala craft in his time as a monk) and Lucio (a musician that Jack was pretty sure was too famous to be working out of a local tattoo parlor, but who was nonetheless a supremely talented artist with evocative ink all his own) running the store, Jesse was given the time to work on Jack’s design—one five-hour session that left both men exhausted by the end of it.

Jack had covered the design up to heal, doubly to hide it when Gabe came back the next day, one extremely suspicious eyebrow raised at Jack when he greeted him.

“What did you do,” Gabe said flatly, but he didn’t turn away from Jack’s kiss, so he probably wasn’t too bothered by the secret.

Their anniversary was in three days, and Jack kept the bandage on throughout. Gabe seemed to have some inkling as to the significance of it, but that only made him more wary.

“If you take that bandage off and I see my name down there, I’m gonna punch you in your perfect mouth, bobo.”

“As if you could punch fast enough,” Jack challenged, and Gabe made a swipe, one that Jack dodged easily, having established early on that one of his specialties had been, for a long time, his speed, and Gabe had once or twice had had to suffer through his special brand of impish stupidity and his ability to book it the hell out of there to avoid the consequences.

The first time he’d done this, Jack was amazed that he felt good enough, giddy enough to essentially play cat and mouse with the man he loved, something so utterly childish and funny and unlike the him of the last few years.

Being with Gabe taught Jack something he had needed to learn, when they’d both gone to a support group for vets for the first time together. Gabe had felt comfortable enough to have him there, for which Jack was grateful. Jack had felt uncomfortable with the idea of sharing his baggage at the time, but he found himself surrounded by other people who’d gone through what he had, and he slowly but surely slipped out of his shell as the men and women around him spoke of the little things they hadn’t been able to do since they got back home.

Some of them spoke of the little victories, the day to day that would’ve sounded ridiculous to anyone who had no idea how hard it was to do the little things that…. _Normal_ people took for granted. It made Jack realize he wasn’t less for how he felt.

And when Gabe spoke of the nights Jack knew he spent washing his face too long in the bathroom, or lying in bed without falling asleep, the fears he had that he’d be pulled back into the life he’d worked so hard to leave behind, Jack realized that he wasn’t alone.

That they were both living life day to day, together, and that it was good.

On the day of the anniversary of their meeting (not even a real anniversary, technically, since they only started officially dating later), Gabe, blushing so dark his cheek was hot to the touch, gave Jack a jacket he’d been working on the past few weeks, claiming it was a commission. It was a bright blue, red, and white, just skirting the line of garish, fitting Jack perfectly when he slipped it on.

Jack couldn’t stop crying long enough to show Gabe his gift. It was about an hour later that he finally stood in front of Gabe, revealing the fully healed blackwork barn owl he’d had done above the wolf of the previous year, bearing the subtle and elegant letters reading “Reaper” in the spaces of its feathers.

“You fucking idiot,” Gabe said, breathlessly, pulling Jack down to crash into him, pressing their foreheads together as Gabe tried to hold back his own tears.

“I wanted you to know,” Jack said. “I know you’re afraid of this coming back to haunt you. I just wanted you to know that I’m not. I’m not afraid, because it doesn’t matter if you every day isn’t always a win for you. It doesn’t matter if you’re afraid of Reaper, of who you were, because I’m not afraid. Because I’ve never doubted for a second that you are a good man, Gabriel Reyes. That I love a good man.”

“Te quiero mucho. Eres mi media naranja, pinche estupido,” Gabe muttered, kissing him stupid, and Jack laughed freely, when Captain decided to join in, jumping on the couch and wiggling between them, barking ecstatically.

It was one of many, many more good days.


End file.
